


Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

by VanLudwig



Category: Naruto
Genre: Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, Killers for Hire, M/M, Master of Disguise Iruka, Mystery, Romance, Spy Kakashi, secret agents, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-14 11:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13006593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanLudwig/pseuds/VanLudwig
Summary: When an investigation into a drug cartel takes a turn for the worse, Konoha's top spy must work alongside the mysterious and elusive Umino Iruka, a contract killer that Konoha's been trying to recruit for years. Iruka has his own reasons for laying low, just as Kakashi has his own motivations for trying to get close to him. But how are you supposed to get to know a man with hundreds of identities and the ability to change into any of them at will? If you're that man, how can you even claim to know yourself?"When I can become anyone or anything, make you believe a lie, make myself believe that same lie, then who's to say what's reality and what isn't? The only thing for certain is that nothing is for certain. The illusion is the only thing that you can count on to be real."





	1. The Marriage of Umino Iruka

The gun goes off once, then twice. Blood splatters up onto the bride’s wedding dress, and Kakashi feels momentary regret for ruining the fabric, ruining her special day. It’s gone when the bride herself reverses the headlocked position she’s in with one fluid twisting motion and swiftly snaps her attacker’s neck. The crunching sound reverberates through Kakashi’s skull, but he barely has time to register shock before the wedding guests are on their feet and stampeding in a panic for the chapel doors. Kakashi looks to the bride, who has torn off her veil and is looking back at Kakashi with a calm defiance, like she expected violence and murder but not his presence. He is allowed two seconds to be confused before he has to aim a bullet over her shoulder at the deacon, who had been advancing with a nasty-looking dagger in his hand. 

Things had been going well. Kakashi hadn’t had trouble slipping into the ceremony, it being such a crowded affair. He’d been curious, of course, as to what couple would be dumb enough to hire what was obviously a drug front to cater their wedding, but he supposed that mystery had been solved the moment a waiter had entered the chapel, gun in hand, and the groom fired the first shot. He’d been ready for it, expecting it. All hell had broken loose, then, and Kakashi had sprinted to the altar, his own weapon drawn and cocked. He made it just in time to stop a knife from plunging into the bride’s exposed neck, but in hindsight, he needn’t have worried. The crunch of the priest’s bones is still ringing in his skull. He’d seen a man’s neck broken before, had done it himself handfuls of times, but to see such a beautiful woman commit the act has him dealing with a certain amount of cognitive dissonance.

The crowd is still in a frenzy, women screaming and men also screaming because gender has no bearing on the fear of death. Kakashi remains tensed, weapon up and eyes searching for a target, but it appears as if the rest of the “catering staff” remained in the reception hall. His eyes drift to the bodies of the priest, the altar server, and the deacon on the floor. All three had attempted to kill the bride, as well as the waiter the groom had dispatched. No one else was trying for the moment, so he puts a hand on her back and is about to whisk her away from the scene when the groom steps in front of him, blue eyes blazing distrust. Kakashi regards him for a moment then steps aside and makes for the stairs to the second floor balcony to gain the high ground. The man seems more than capable, and if he hadn’t just gotten off a lucky shot, he would have the sense to know that the balcony is the safest place right now. 

Kakashi hears their footsteps behind him on the stairs, and when he hits the landing, he levels his gun at the organist, who had remained frozen at her bench. Her eyes are glazed with fear, and she raises her arms shakily in surrender. Kakashi motions with his gun, and she scurries away. 

“Who the hell are you?”

Kakashi turns, and it’s the groom who has asked the question. He’s kept his own gun drawn and is pointing it at Kakashi. The bride is behind him, looking uncertain. 

“We don’t have time for this,” she mutters. Her voice is husky and mellow, and Kakashi thinks he could probably fall in love with that sound. 

The groom looks sidelong at her, keeping his gun trained on Kakashi. “We’re compromised,” he states. 

The bride bites her lip. Her brows furrow for a moment, her mind working. “We can still grab a hostage, get the info we need.”

“Go, then. I’ll deal with this.”

“I look too obvious,” she points out, gesturing to her dress.

The groom reaches into his jacket with his free hand and pulls out a black sack hat, sliding it over his head to obscure his shock of bright yellow hair. He nods then leaves down the stairs. As soon as he lowers his gun and turns, her gun replaces it, keeping Kakashi pinned to the spot. “Who are you?” she demands.

“Hatake Kakashi,” he answers honestly, hands and weapon rising into the air, “Special Agent.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, dripping skepticism, “And why are you here?”

“Hired to investigate you. Higher-ups believed a major deal would go down today between you and the cartel, considering no one has hired their front for an actual catering gig so publicly before,” he lies smoothly, “Why did you do that, by the way? You had to have known. One bite of the foie gras and you know they’re criminals.”

Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step closer. “You know how I know you’re lying?”

“Tell me.”

“Your lips are moving.” She rams the barrel of her gun into his sternum, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to injure. 

“You’re a real angel, you know that?” Kakashi says, feeling sort-of giddy, but he always feels like this after he kills, “Your husband is a lucky man.”

“Are you with the cartel?” she demands.

Kakashi snorts his laughter. “Hell no.”

“How do I know that’s the truth this time?”

“Lady,” Kakashi says, playing at exasperation, “You’re asking questions. I’m answering them.” He steps in, presses his chest to the barrel of her gun, and lowers his hands a fraction. “You know how you can know to trust me? I killed the men trying to kill you. I fired my gun over your shoulder, aiming not for you but for the people attacking you. That’s how you know.”

“It could be a trick,” she argued. 

Kakashi bites back the juvenile response and simply says, “Well, it isn’t.” He lowers his hands and holds his gun out on his open palm. “Take it.”

She does, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“I’m still armed,” Kakashi says, “Two knives in my coat, one strapped to my leg, and another handgun in the waistband of my pants.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“So you’ll know the difference between me reaching for a weapon and me just wanting to put my hands in my pockets,” he explains, doing so. He makes no further movement. 

The bride watches him for a long moment, and Kakashi watches her back. She’s absolutely breathtaking to behold. Her dress is covered in flecks of blood, and her russet brown hair is tangled from when she tore her veil off. A flush of excitement dusts her delicately tanned skin, her make-up perfectly in place in spite of the violence. The curves of her face are soft and feminine, and she looks very young to Kakashi, perhaps only a few years over twenty. Compared to his own age, he knows he shouldn’t be allowing himself to wax poetic over her, but he cannot help himself. She is a vision of grace and fury in a white lace dress, and he is downright smitten. 

She hands him his gun back, and he is careful to put it away slowly and deliberately. She turns, surveying the now-empty chapel with a calculating gaze. “My partner will meet us. We should go while we have the chance.”

“I’m going, too?” Kakashi asks, wondering when that was decided. 

“You have to. You’re in this now, at least temporarily,” she explains, quick and clipped. 

Kakashi’s heart stumbles over its next few beats when she takes his hand, and they are running down the stairs and out into the ambush that both of them knew would be beyond the chapel doors. There are several bodies of unfortunate wedding-goers, and Kakashi swears he sees remorse flash in the bride’s eyes before she is embroiled in a fist fight with what appears to be a chef, who had been hiding behind a shrub, waiting presumably for her to appear. Kakashi does not have time to come to her rescue as he barely has time to dodge the bullet aimed for his heart. It clips him in the shoulder as he moves to the side. He slips his hand behind his back for his second handgun and fires two shots, one from each. They both hit their target, and a man hidden in a tree falls to the earth like a stone. Kakashi repeats this process three more times, but he only gets hit one more time, whereas all of his targets were not nearly so fortunate. He turns to help the bride as she is wiping blood off of a blade onto her dress, which is torn in places and has attracted several more rust-colored stains. 

A black van comes speeding up the road, and Kakashi is poised for another conflict when the bride’s hand on his arm stops him. The van screeches to a halt, tires smoking, and the bride yanks open the side door and leaps in. Kakashi takes his cue quickly and follows, slamming it shut as they race off. 

“Good timing,” the bride remarks evenly, her chest heaving as she catches her breath (she does not catch it, nor does she catch Kakashi’s stare). “Did you get a hostage?”

The groom nods his head towards the passenger seat, and Kakashi cranes his neck forward to glimpse the slumped-over figure of an unconscious man dressed in white. His apron and stupid hat indicates to Kakashi he had been posing as a chef. 

Kakashi had received a certain amount of intel for this mission, so he has a few puzzle pieces to work with. He knows that the cartel had been using a restaurant as a front to sell drugs and launder money, and his boss had been trying for months to prove it. They’d been close to succeeding many times, but Kakashi isn’t sure how Tsunade will take the news of the firefight at the altar. On one hand, it solidifies that the restaurant had been a front. On the other hand, Tsunade is a firm believer in subtlety, and it does not get much more unsubtle than gunfire and dead civilians.

Speaking of which. 

Kakashi raises a hand slowly, not wanting to alarm the edgy bride, but her mistrust seems to have worn off somewhat. She regards him with calm in her brown doe eyes. He clears his throat. “I wasn’t lying about being a Special Agent. Would it be inconsiderate to you both if I placed a phone call to my superior officer about this incident?”

The bride turns away from the groom briefly to wave her hand at him.

Kakashi finds this strange. “Would it be problematic for you if I mentioned your involvement?”

“You won’t tell Tsunade anything she doesn’t already know.”

Kakashi is rendered momentarily speechless, but he shakes this off and dials Tsunade up on his work phone. She answers immediately with her typical charm. “Talk, Hatake.”

“It went bloody,” he begins, never one to beat around the bush, “At least seven bad guys dead, some civilian casualties, we didn’t stick around long enough to get a count.”

“I have agents near the area,” Tsunade interrupts, “That’s fine.”

“You didn’t tell me I wasn’t the only agent assigned to this case,” Kakashi accuses.

“If you’re referring to the lovely couple, they aren’t mine, not really,” Tsunade explains badly, “We can talk about it later if you feel hurt.”

“Cut the shit,” Kakashi insists, “I like to know what I’m being sent into, that’s all.”

“Are you all fine?” Tsunade asks, the first real traces of concern entering her tone. 

“I got grazed twice,” he replies smoothly, “I don’t know about them.”

“You’ll be fine with them for now. The area’s probably crawling with Jiraiya's cronies.” Tsunade spits his name with disdain. “Be safe, lick your wounds, come back to the compound tonight to debrief.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kakashi’s words are almost mocking, but he knows Tsunade can’t afford to exercise control over him, doesn’t have time to, so he hangs up with the relative knowledge that everything is as it should be. 

“So,” he says as he turns back to face the bride and groom, but his brain immediately shuts down and takes its sweet time rebooting at the sight of her ripping her dress off right there in the back of the getaway van. She’s wearing nothing but a half-plate of Kevlar underneath, and her chest is as flat as Kakashi’s, dusky pink nipples surrounded by the raised flesh of well-defined pectoral muscles. A hand comes up to her hair, and she’s tearing the glossy, chocolate brown wig off. Kakashi knows his jaw is on the floor, but he stares and stares and stares as she transforms in front of him. 

The bride knows she is being watched (he is being watched?), so she (he?) is smirking as she (he???) rips open a pre-packaged wetclotch and begins rubbing off the layers of disguise make-up. It takes mere seconds, but Kakashi feels much older as he regards the half-naked young man sitting cross-legged in front of him, surrounded by his ripped wedding dress and looking way too damn pleased about the whole thing. 

The young man sticks his hand out as if in greeting. “Umino Iruka,” he says teasingly, “At your service.”

Kakashi grasps his hand, determined to salvage what little he can of his professionalism. “Again, Hatake Kakashi, at yours,” he replies silkily. He flips Iruka’s hand in his and brushes his lips against hard knuckles just beginning to bruise from the day’s festivities. “It was a lovely disguise, entirely convincing.”

“Yes, well,” Iruka says, expression carefully neutral as he pulls his hand away, “That’s my job.”

“Iruka’s being modest,” the groom chimes in from the front of the van, “He’s amazing.” He draws out his vowels enthusiastically as he says this, so Kakashi is certain it is the truth. “I’m Naruto!” he chirps then, “Uzumaki Naruto.”

“Charmed.”

“Your shoulder,” Iruka points out, and then his hands are reaching for the cloth. Kakashi hisses, slapping Iruka’s hands away, but Iruka slaps back. “Don’t do that, idiot, let me see the wound.”

“It’s not a wound,” Kakashi protests, “Barely grazed me.”

“And yet you have stained your Armani suit,” Iruka points out accusatively, “Seems a waste to ruin such a good suit if you aren’t even wounded.”

Kakashi hears Naruto snickering from the front seat, but he is too pleased that Iruka can tell his suit is Armani to be upset at the dig. He decides to let Iruka prod at him with antiseptic and dress his shoulder. To do so, Iruka strips him of his jacket and dress shirt, and Kakashi is surprised to realize he feels much the same as he imagines he would’ve if Iruka-the-bride had been the one undressing him. This fantasy halts in its tracks the moment Kakashi feels the sting of the disinfectant, but he makes no sound as Iruka fixes him up. It is an oddly intimate moment between two near-strangers, and when Iruka rubs his thumb over the bandages in a sort of motherly and absent-minded caress, Kakashi feels he now knows something about the man. 

They travel to the compound and Naruto parks around back. Kakashi stares up at the derelict building. HQ for Konoha Enterprises is nothing to the outside world, an abandoned brick building with a weed-riddled parking lot next to a broken traffic light in the poor part of town. This is entirely intentional, as they wouldn’t be much of an underground network of spies if they announced their presence on a billboard. They aren’t even really an enterprise under the legal definition, though they are by all means an enterprising bunch. Kakashi does not know if Konoha is a word with a definition, but to him, it is a pretty succinct way of summarizing his entire life. He’s worked with Tsunade since they were young, way too young to be getting into that kind of shit, but neither of them know anything else. This is what Kakashi does. This is what he is good at.

He has never seen Umino Iruka or Uzumaki Naruto here before. Kakashi would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested, especially because he prides himself on being observant, on knowing things. He is a damn good spy, and today is the first day in a very long time something has surprised him. 

The trio huddles around the entrance as Naruto punches a code into a keypad, then stands patiently still for the retina scanner. A green light flashes, and the lock clicks open. They walk through the doorway and shut the door, staring at each other blankly while the sensor system checks them for wires and bugs. It is one of the longer minutes of Kakashi’s life because he spends it pretending he is not staring at Umino Iruka, who appears to be an excellent spy, as he can absolutely tell that Kakashi is watching him. 

Once they are cleared, they walk into the compound proper. It is a single hallway that opens up into the Atrium, truly the only room in the entire place. The entire building is hollow, one single room that reaches all the way to the top. It echoes like a sonofa, not the world’s most wonderful architectural choice, but considering the state of the place when Tsunade found it and founded Konoha, Kakashi would say it had certainly been the easiest fix for the place. The walls are lined with staircases, no elevators, because Tsunade’s office is at the very top and she is a firm believer in two things: not being bothered and culling the weak. You have to really mean it when you go to bother Tsunade. 

Kakashi’s legs are very strong from years and years of really meaning to bother Tsunade. 

Naruto and Iruka begin to mount the stairs while Kakashi heads down underground, into the living quarters he keeps at HQ, brain buzzing as it searches its memory archives for any glimpses of Umino Iruka. While he waits for Tsunade’s summons, he cleans his twin handguns, sharpens his knives, and eats spoonfuls of peanut butter from a jar on his desk. After a few hours, the summons comes in the form of a little lightbulb stuck in his wall. It flashes green if he has a mission, yellow if Tsunade just wants to talk, and red if there’s trouble. Right now, the yellow flashing tells him it’s time to debrief. 

He climbs stairs, nodding and waving mute greetings to the people he passes. Konoha is not a large operation by most standards, but there are a good number of agents on staff. A lot of liaisons to different organizations. One or two government contacts, though Tsunade does not make a habit out of interacting with the law. 

Kakashi reaches her office, which is really more of a floating glass box, and takes a seat. She is just dismissing Iruka and Naruto when he does, and Kakashi can read fear on Iruka’s features. He presumes Iruka has a fear of heights, although a person does not have to be afraid of heights to find Tsunade’s office terribly unnerving. Kakashi’s presumption is proven correct when Iruka hovers at the top of the staircase, one hand on the wall and the other over his heart. Naruto grabs his hand and drags him down the stairs at a clipped pace. Kakashi is sympathetic. 

“They were made?” he asks Tsunade when they are out of earshot.

“It’s the first time it’s ever happened to Umino,” she confirms, “That’s why I use him. He’s discreet, convincing, and conducts business with a precise hand.”

“Someone from the cartel wasn’t buying it.”

Tsunade shakes her head, staring down at an open file on her desk. “I sent you because it seemed possible that the plan would fail. I needed back-up for Umino, but I didn’t know where the leak came from. I still don’t.”

“How long was the operation going on for?”

“Better part of four months.” Tsunade looks crestfallen, grimly so. “Umino was organizing a major deal, staged around the wedding day. He was posing as a newcomer, trying to get in with Jiraiya’s. It was going so cleanly, we were ready to make the arrests the second they cut the damn cake.”

“Is Umino government?” Kakashi asks curiously.

“No, but the contract was government,” she says, biting her lip, “They still made their arrests, so we still get paid, but the fact that we were made doesn’t look good for us. Umino’s upset.”

“You said he’s not ours.”

“I hire him frequently for jobs,” Tsunade tells him, pulling a black file out of a stack and handing it to Kakashi. He opens it, and it is full of pictures of different people. “Umino Iruka is a master of disguises. His work is unparalleled.”

Kakashi agrees although he does not verbalize it. He is too busy studying the photographs, his eyes examining every face in detail. Hair, eyes, skin color, age, gender, bone structure, everything changes in each shot. Kakashi is amazed he is not looking at a search engine result for “diversity”. He is fascinated by what he is seeing and no longer feels stupid for having been tricked by Umino’s bride earlier. The man may as well be a shapeshifter. “He is a man, right?”

Tsunade barks a laugh. “What would it even matter?”

Kakashi wonders how Umino Iruka feels about this. 

“As far as I know, he and his brother are both men,” Tsunade says, “Uzumaki doesn’t do disguises, but he’s probably a better sharpshooter than you are.”

Kakashi’s hackles rise. “Bullshit.”

Tsunade clucks her tongue at him. “It’s no insult. Those two are remarkable.”

“And they aren’t on the roster?”

“I was never able to lock them down.” Tsunade sounds remorseful. “They came to me calling themselves independent contractors. I didn’t use them for the longest time, but I kept their information on file. I was stubborn. They’d shown me what they’re capable of. I was a prideful fool not to hire them onto jobs only because they wouldn’t sign on with us.”

Kakashi doesn’t understand why anyone would want to remain independent. It’s dangerous work, and being with an organization means protection, means a steady paycheck. To a lesser extent, it also means a social life. Before, when it was just him and Tsunade starting out, they’d only had each other. Now, they have friends, just as volatile and horrifying as themselves. 

“Either way,” Tsunade continues, “Those boys are going to be here for a few more days while I finalize the contract with the Feds and this shit dies down surrounding the church and their covers, et cetera.” She waves her hand flippantly, rifling with a few more papers before closing the folder and handing it to Kakashi. “I gave them the room next to yours for the time being. Maybe you can make nice.”

Kakashi raised his eyebrows as he opens the folder. “Maybe.”

“Write me a recount of today’s events,” she says, nodding her head towards him before sitting down at her desk, “I need to compare it to Umino and Uzumaki’s reports.”

This is standard protocol, and Kakashi does as he’s asked with little complaining. His memory is excellent. He would’ve been able to recount every mission report from the last month, had Tsunade asked it of him, so it is with surgical precision that Kakashi makes record of the events leading up to the ceremony, the people he’d observed and their behaviors. The clergy members had been armed from the beginning; he had seen their weapons concealed in their robes the moment he walked in. Kakashi speculates that the front hired for the wedding planted them after finding out Umino’s true allegiances, but he does not write this. He has never been one to make things easy for the government, so he merely notes the facts and leaves out his intuitive leaps. He writes in the report that Iruka’s disguise was quite beautiful, paying poetic attention to how he’d swayed up the aisle to a song Kakashi knew was not the Hallelujah Chorus but figured it might as well have been. He recounts the first fight, then the second fights, and ends with their daring getaway. 

He hands Tsunade her papers and stands to leave. 

“Good work,” Tsunade mutters to him, already working on some other report. With the government contracts, it's always entirely more paperwork than necessary, which is why Tsunade usually doesn’t help them much. When it comes to the cartel, though, it’s personal for her. She hates Jiraiya, understandably so. Lots of people hate their exes, especially when they frame you for murder.

Kakashi descends the stairs until he reaches the basement and is somewhat surprised to find Umino and his brother standing outside of his room. Iruka raises his hand in greeting. 

“Yo,” Kakashi says.

“We were wondering,” Iruka says, head tilted up slightly as he looks at Kakashi, “If you wanted to come to dinner with us.”

“Where are you thinking of going?” Kakashi asks. 

“Ramen, duh!” Naruto announces like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Do other foods even exist?”

Kakashi likes ramen, so he’s not opposed to the idea. “Let me just change first.” He’s still in his ripped and slightly bloody suit, which is not out of place in Konoha but would greatly alarm patrons at a civilian ramen house. 

He disappears into his room, getting a black turtleneck and a pair of black jeans out of his meager drawers. His dress wardrobe is enormous and diverse, but civilian clothes are typically only worn by off-duty agents, and Kakashi can’t remember the last time he’s appeared in public while off-duty. He catches a look at himself in the mirror as he’s removing his jacket and wonders what Iruka thinks of him. His hair is prematurely greying, and to compensate, he bleaches it out every so often. His roots grow in blond, so it’s not that high-maintenance of a look, but he doesn’t want to leave the gray and risk looking old. The result is a little more mad-scientist right now than he’d like, so he runs an oiled brush through it to get some of the worst of the frizz under control before a few swipes with some fresh gel to keep his spikes in place. His eyes are mismatched - one gray and one bloody red - and a nasty scar runs the length of the left side of his face, bisecting the red eye socket. It was a bad fight, early on in his career, so he’s used to it. In all, he considers himself moderately attractive in a dangerous, exotic sort of way. He’s always been popular with masochists and people with daddy issues, certainly. He wonders whether Iruka fits those categories and if so, why.

Kakashi puts on his clothes and ties a strip of black cloth around his hairline to hold his hair in place. Look complete, he emerges. Iruka and Naruto have evidently been given clothes to borrow from the agency, as all three of them are wearing matching civilian blacks. They look depressing but stylishly so, and so they set off together, on foot, for a place not too far from the compound. 

Kakashi orders miso ramen. It is hot and good and soothes a deep ache within him. Hot food, soup in particular, has some mystical quality to it that makes everything better for the duration of the meal. He eats ramen from the mess hall so frequently, though, that he realizes he’s forgotten what it’s supposed to taste like until now. Naruto had been right to say that no other food exists aside from ramen, if the definition of food were to include a clause about making Kakashi forget about his kill count for the day. 

Iruka is talking to Naruto and has been for most of the time they’ve been eating, but now he turns to Kakashi. “Thanks for helping us out today. Tsunade told me you were watching our six.”

“Not that you needed it, but you’re welcome,” Kakashi tells him, studying Iruka’s face with interest. Now that Iruka has taken off his disguise and Kakashi’s shock has well and truly worn off, he notices an old scar that runs from cheek to cheek on Iruka’s face, interrupting his caramel complexion with a slash of violence that starts Kakashi’s mind to wondering. The scar is very, very old, older than Kakashi’s, which likely means he didn't sustain the injury on a job. 

“Well, not that I’m not used to working in dresses,” Iruka is saying with no trace of self-consciousness, “But it’s not as easy to dodge bullets in a gown and heels as it is in pretty much anything else, so I appreciate it.”

Naruto is snickering into his ramen. “Iruka, you’ve beat up more bad guys wearing a dress than in anything else.”

Iruka merely shrugs, eyes still on Kakashi. 

Kakashi returns his gaze steadily. “Tsunade says you don’t work for us.”

If Iruka is unprepared for direct questioning, he doesn’t show it. “No, I don’t. Naruto and I hire ourselves out to Tsunade for jobs, but we aren’t interested in anything more permanent.”

“I’m sure she’s offered you one hell of a contract, though.”

Iruka nods, smiling ruefully. “Naruto’s young.” Naruto screeches a protest, but neither Kakashi nor Iruka reacts. “I don’t want him doing any more killing than is necessary.” The restaurant is deserted, so this is an okay thing to say out loud. 

“Makes sense,” Kakashi says, even though it doesn’t. His first kill was at the tender age of eight. He came out fine for it. Well, in spite of it, but the difference is purely semantic. “I’m sure with your talent, there’s a lot more interesting things you’re doing, anyway.”

This, Iruka does react to. A flinch, barely noticeable, but this subtle gesture lights Kakashi up with curiosity. He leans in, allowing his body language to show a mere fraction of the interest he feels. “What do you do when you aren’t working for Tsunade?”

“I’m sure you have your secrets, too, Kakashi,” Iruka says primly, eyes narrowing in warning, “I’ll thank you to respect mine.”

“Lace front wigs aren’t cheap, especially if they keep getting ruined on missions,” Kakashi continues, almost conversationally and entirely without regard to the icy aura Iruka is throwing out. 

“I am careful with my belongings,” Iruka spat.

“We do burn through a shit ton of costumes, though,” Naruto points out obliviously, gesturing with his chopsticks, “Iruka, why are you being so secretive about stuff? Kakashi’s our friend.”

“We don’t know that.” Iruka hurls the words over his shoulder, quite stubbornly in Kakashi’s opinion. 

“He’s eating with us, though.”

Naruto’s comment is met by silence. Iruka stands, hands Naruto his wallet, and leaves without a word or a backwards glance. Naruto is shaking his head as he slides his brother’s bowl towards himself. “Sorry about Iruka,” he says to Kakashi, sounding genuine but unsurprised, “I wish I could say he isn’t usually like that.”

Kakashi laughs at Naruto’s words, surprised by them. “In our line of work, it isn’t so strange to be guarded.”

“Yeah, but we’re friends,” Naruto repeats, “You don’t have to be guarded around friends.”

“You did just meet me today.” Kakashi doesn’t know why he’s defending Iruka when it doesn’t really stand to benefit him. 

Naruto shrugs and turns to face Kakashi. “We work for the same boss.” The look on his face is so plain and honest as he cracks a smile. “And besides, anyone who keeps Iruka from getting hurt is a friend of mine.”

It is with these words that Kakashi knows why Iruka is so fiercely protective over him. 

Kakashi is beginning to feel something similar to protectiveness himself. 

Naruto does not seem terribly concerned that Iruka has run off, so Kakashi forces himself to relax as they both finish their meal - meals in Naruto’s case - and when they exit, Kakashi is surprised to find Iruka outside of the shop, leaning against the building with a toothpick between his teeth. No words pass between them as they walk back to Konoha - though many words pass from Naruto onto them - and when Kakashi sequesters himself in his room for the night, he swears he can hear Iruka’s pulse through the wall. 

Kakashi’s instincts kick him awake later than usual, and when he looks over at his work desk, the light bulb is not flashing any particular color. He rises, dresses in his blacks, tucks a small knife into his pocket, and strolls off in the direction of the showers. He is never unarmed, not even in the compound. Though he has never had a reason to be armed in the compound, it is easier to do the unnecessary thing for the peace of mind than do the sensible thing and fight his anxiety every step of the way. 

He showers mechanically and methodically and is dressed and in the mess hall for breakfast before anyone else. Well, almost anyone. Kakashi spots Iruka sitting near the back corner, a tray in front of him and a book held aloft to obscure his face. Kakashi recognizes Iruka by the way Iruka has designed himself not to be noticed. He slaps a few slices of toast on a plate and joins him silently. 

Iruka does not look up from what he is reading. He does not say good morning. He does not give any indication that there has been a shift in his environment, which Kakashi grants is quite professional of him and very in-line with his touted skillset. 

Unfortunately for Iruka, part of Kakashi’s skillset is getting people to talk (though usually under far more sinister circumstances). 

“Will you tell me what else you do for a living today, Iruka?”

A muscle in Iruka’s wrist twitches. He does not look up from his book. “Do you make a habit out of asking difficult questions without preamble?”

“Time is a finite resource.”

This gets Iruka to lower his book. His eyes are narrowed but in thought, not anger. “True.”

“How old is Naruto?”

“Seventeen.”

This surprises Kakashi, and he makes no attempt to disguise it. “You said he’s young, too young.”

“That is too young,” Iruka asserts with emphasis. He puts his book down, closing the pages on his index finger to mark the page. “How old were you when you started here?”

Kakashi’s mind begins to work through the technicalities before realizing it is hardly relevant due to the implications and context of the question. “Eight.”

Every failed attempt at rising Iruka’s emotions is reconciled in the face he makes at Kakashi now. “Eight,” he parrots, looking pale.

Kakashi takes a bite of one of his slices of toast. “How old were you?”

Iruka purses his lips. “Fifteen.”

“Naruto’s older than you were.”

“Like I said, that’s too young.”

Kakashi tilts his head towards Iruka, shifting his eyes to his plate. “In seriousness, I understand your concern over him.” In seriousness, he did not understand Iruka’s concern, at least not completely. But Kakashi could partially understand. Unlike them, Naruto seemed to exhibit a certain flavor of youthful optimism that Kakashi had previously believed only to exist in movies and in books. But the man is a damn fine shot. That talent should not go to waste. From what Kakashi saw of his skill yesterday, he would have killed to have Naruto on some of his teams in the past. Kakashi says none of this, though. He doesn’t feel it is his place, not when Iruka is still giving him that look, that ill-concealed horror painting his face in a way that makes Kakashi faintly uncomfortable. It is morphing into something like pity, pity for his lost youth, no doubt. Kakashi hasn’t dealt with that in years. His reputation always precedes him, so no one mentions it, and the industry is brutal, so no one questions it, either. 

“So, what do you and Naruto do when you aren’t working for Tsunade?”

Iruka rolls his eyes. “What do you do when you’re not working for Tsunade?”

“Nothing,” Kakashi answers honestly.

“Nothing?” Iruka laughs incredulously. “You’re a piece of work, Kakashi Hatake.”

“I do my job.” Kakashi shrugs.

“Yes, but even assassins have hobbies.”

Kakashi arches an eyebrow. He picks up another slice of toast.

“Do you read any books?”

Kakashi begins to pick the crust off and eat it. If you eat all the bad parts of a food first, you are left with the good stuff at the very end, when you’re less hungry and more likely to appreciate something like flavor. 

“Watch any TV shows? Does this building even get cable?”

“We have Wi-Fi.”

“Are you a Netflix or a Hulu man?”

Finally left with only the butter-saturated center of the wheat toast, Kakashi takes a satisfying bite.

“For someone who was so nosy earlier, you are being surprisingly cagey.”

“For someone who was so inhibited earlier, you sure are being talkative.”

Iruka make a tsking noise before cracking his book open in a violent, snappish gesture. “Have it your way.”

Kakashi toys with a third slice of toast, scraping the burned edges off of it with his fingernail. “When I’m off-duty, I sleep. Or train. Or polish my weapons.”

“There’s more to life than this, you know,” Iruka says from behind his paperback.

Kakashi shakes his head. He doesn’t agree.


	2. The Job at Asuma's

Kakashi’s next job comes that afternoon. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, contemplating whether or not he should sharpen a knife or go find a free heavybag in the gym, when receives the summons, the flashes of green like an answered prayer to his idle mind. Bodyguard work and keeping the peace at a poker tournament across town. Tsunade has it on good authority that a drug deal is going down because drug deals always go down at these things, and Kakashi is there to ensure the safety of the host and guests. They’ve dealt with him before, a sturdy man named Asuma whose venue is often the sight of violence and deals gone sour due to the unsavoury nature of his clientele. He pays well, though, and Asuma is an old friend, so Tsunade sends Kakashi, and Asuma gets his money’s worth. 

Almost like she’s interested in what will happen, Tsunade tells Kakashi she’s adding Iruka and Naruto to the security detail. Kakashi is also interested in what will happen, but he is a professional, so he merely checks to make sure he’s still being paid the same before heading to suit up. He’s worked Asuma’s poker tournaments in the past, many times, so he knows he rarely needs more than his handguns and a five inch knife at most, but with the image of Iruka’s troubled expression over breakfast still ghosting his short term memory, he tucks a few extra clips and the six incher into the leather holster concealed behind his cummerbund. 

He is buttoning his diamond cufflinks - one of the few luxuries he owns - as he hits the lobby and is surprised to find Naruto there alone. “No Iruka yet?” he asks. Strange. Iruka had not struck Kakashi as the type to abide tardiness, even his own.

Naruto’s eyes drift over Kakashi’s shoulder, and his shit-eating grin tells Kakashi what he needs to know. Kakashi spins on his heel, mouth open to make some comment or other, but his words die on his lips, tongue dry in his mouth.

Strutting towards Kakashi in a strapless black gown is, quite possibly, the bustiest set of legs Kakashi has ever seen in his brief and harrowing life. Logically, he knows it is Iruka underneath all those blonde extensions and that thick coating of make-up. Logic doesn’t do him any good, though, as his eyes move with a will of their own from heaving cleavage to pinched waist to the daring slit in the velvet fabric that begins high on a tanned thigh and doesn’t stop until it hits the platform of a strappy black heel. 

Not for the first or second time in the past thirty-some hours, Kakashi falls in love.

“Ready to go, Sana?” Naruto asks.

“Sana,” Kakashi repeats, voice like the hum of an engine and nowhere near gentlemanly in intent, “Funny, Tsunade didn’t tell me there was any Sana going on this mission.”

“Tough,” Sana simpers. Kakashi’s eyes are snared in the cloying red gloss of her lips as she speaks, words dripping sex like honey from a spoon. “You boys’ll be dead without me.”

She moves like a panther, shoulders set and graceful. The fabric shimmers against her curves, giving Kakashi a perfect view of her ass as she passes him. He knows because he is absolutely staring. He is not a godly man, but he prays for mercy as her smouldering gaze trails along him like the soft but purposeful touch of flirtatious fingertips.

Naruto, bless him, does not seem to be as enchanted by his brother’s ass. “I guess I’m driving?”

Kakashi regains some piece of himself. “I’ll drive. I know where we’re headed. Asuma is an old friend.”

He briefs them on the way. Naruto rides in the passenger seat, and Sana is mercifully tucked away in the back. Kakashi makes a mental note to ask Naruto how long it took him to get over the sight of his older brother in the drag of any sane man’s film noir fantasies, and if applicable, whether or not he sought therapy for it. “Asuma’s a good guy. His poker outfit’s pretty well-known, though, so there’s inevitably someone who got invited that shouldn’t be there, doesn’t get what it’s all about. Once every couple of weeks, we get called out to work security for him.”

“Security.” Naruto wrinkles his nose.

“Like I said, he’s a good guy. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.” Kakashi checks his watch even though there’s a digital clock on the dashboard. They’re in one of Konoha’s nicest cars, the one he doesn’t let anyone else drive, so in that way it is not truly one of Konoha’s cars but rather Kakashi’s car. 1975 Ford Gran Torino, black. Restored by Jiraiya himself before, well. Kakashi likes to take it to the easier jobs, places he knows it won’t get peppered with bullet holes. He doesn’t get to take it out all that much.

They arrive at the place, a brick building covered in ivy tucked into the city’s oldest neighborhood. The unlit sign proclaims “Sarutobi’s” over the door, and the lights inside are all off. In spite of this, the parking lot is full. It’s the most obvious front Kakashi’s ever been to, but the police never give Asuma trouble. He’s a good guy, after all. Pays his taxes and parking tickets on time, stops for stop signs and crosswalks, donates to local charities. And the spaghetti sauce at Sarutobi’s is unreasonably delicious, so that’s an open and shut case all around. 

Kakashi steers the Ford into a spot along the sidewalk, on the street just outside the front door. He kills the engine and steps out, opening the door for Sana before she can fumble for the handle. She gives him a look that indicates she isn’t amused by his play at chivalry, but really, it isn’t about that at all. The back doors of the Ford don’t open from the inside. Again, Jiraiya’s choice.

They go around to the back entrance, and Kakashi raps his knuckles against the metal door. It opens a crack, the chain lock rattling as a pair of eyes size them up. The door shuts, then reopens all the way, and the trio is ushered inside warmly. Sana is given an appreciative stare by the doorman, and she smiles affectionately, perfectly cordial and enjoying the attention. Kakashi imagines it must be nice to have your work so thoroughly appreciated.

They weave through the restaurant, which is pitch black except for the step lighting, which casts a soft yellow trail along the thin, burgundy carpeting. At the entrance to the basement, they are greeted by another doorman, who clasps Kakashi’s hand and smiles around the cigar he is holding between his teeth. He calls Kakashi his cousin as he opens the door for them to pass. 

The air in the basement is thick with cigar smoke and the skunk-like stench of a substance less legal. Something that sounds like the unholy lovechild of classical and house is pumping from a set of speakers mounted in the back corner. Kakashi quickly locates Asuma at the bar and waves his companions forward. Asuma is surrounded by several other men, but the moment Kakashi is close enough for his presence to be felt, the crowd parts to allow him through. Asuma offers his hand and Kakashi takes it with a smile. “Good to see you again, old friend.”

Kakashi verbalizes his agreement. “Wouldn’t miss a Sarutobi party. These are my friends, Naruto and Sana.”

“Well, hello,” Asuma enunciates, clapping eyes on their blonde bombshell. 

Sana titters warmly, like she’s playing at embarrassment, and offers her hand. She watches Asuma’s lips brush her knuckles with smoking intensity. Asuma watches her and blushes. 

Kakashi can already tell Iruka is going to be incredibly fun on missions. He is no longer bothered by Tsunade’s insistence he bring back-up. At the time, it’d felt like a waste, but this is an unnecessary display of force Kakashi can get behind. 

Naruto is greeted with less sexual intensity, but Asuma is clearly thrilled with his boyish charm and brash charisma. After asking cheekily how old Naruto is and receiving an honest answer, Asuma slaps the bar and four glasses of whiskey appear. They each take one, and Asuma toasts to a boring yet lucrative evening for them all. Kakashi agrees and drains his glass. 

The evening certainly is lucrative. Kakashi has always had an excellent poker face, and he enjoys a few truly fun games, losing less than he wins. Naruto is not so fortunate, but he wears his emotions on his sleeve at all times, so it’s no small wonder. At one point, Kakashi attempts to explain to him that yelling “YES!” at the top of his lungs is a rather severe tell and the point of the game is to trick your opponents into believing you will lose, but Naruto does not quite understand the nuance. He begins to moan a theatrical “Noooo…” with each favorable hand. It’s a start, albeit a bad one. 

It is following one such bit of theater that Sana sidles up to him, two martinis in her gloved hands. “You’d think he learns nothing from me.”

Kakashi takes the offered drink and smiles. “Your talent is wasted on such a pupil.”

Sana sighs almost as dramatically as Naruto, which causes them both to chuckle. 

“I played a very interesting game just now with some equally interesting gentlemen over in the corner table just now,” Sana says, inclining her head. 

Kakashi recognizes the tension in her voice. “Did you win?”

She shakes her head. “They were terrible cheats.”

“You didn’t lose much, did you?”

“No, I dare say I didn’t have the right bet to impress them.”

This intrigues Kakashi. “How much to play at the table?”

Sana shakes her head again. She leans into him, her hot breath ghosting the shell of his ear. “Human traffickers.” 

Kakashi maintains composure. “You’re certain?”

Sana smiles thinly, no humor reaching her eyes. “They were rather interested in me, I must say, but I told them I couldn’t keep playing and cashed out.”

“Do you think they want any other guests to play with them?”

“I think it would be quite an honor for them to have Asuma join in.”

Ah. Asuma will not like this. Prostitution is the one pot he doesn’t have his hand in, nor does he have any desire to. Funny what marriage does to a man. 

“I think I’ll go let our esteemed host know,” Kakashi says, “Thank you. For the drink, I mean.” He raises the martini. “It’s really excellent stuff.”

Sana recognizes it for the compliment it really is and blushes lightly.

Kakashi weaves through the crowd to where Asuma sits, losing spectacularly and having an amazing time doing so. The game has just ended, and Asuma is laughing as he shows his losing hand. Kakashi walks up to him and then past, tapping his shoulder once with two finger spread an inch apart. He then heads for the bathroom, whereupon he ensures the stalls are empty and checks the towels for wires. When Asuma joins him, he locks the door. 

“What is it this time?” Asuma asks, defeated. There’s always something to report. “Drugs that aren’t mine, guns that aren’t mine, Jiraiya’s guys? God, I hope it’s not that.”

“Not that,” Kakashi assures him, “Although, you’re really not going to be thrilled when I tell you it’s whores.”

Asuma swears, pulling the cigarette from his mouth so he can express his anger with more range of motion. “Goddamnit, that’s the last thing I need. Shit. Jesus shit. Is there a deal going down?”

Kakashi shakes his head. “I’m not one hundred percent, but Sana managed to find out they want to offer you a deal. Cut you in, probably, so they can access your manpower.”

“Kurenai is gonna have a fit if she finds out.”

“At you?” Kakashi is confused.

“In general!” Asuma is twitching, flicks of his fingers and wrists that were barely perceptible before but now, in private, are all Kakashi can focus on. “That woman will burn this place down if she knows there are pimps here.”

“Is she here now?”

“She’s coming by a little later to play some games.” Asuma checks his watch then swears again. “Why did it have to be this?”

“It’s always something,” Kakashi points out, rather unnecessarily. 

“Why can’t these assholes leave a man to commit his own crimes in peace?”

“Because you’re too good at it,” Kakashi points out, again, completely unnecessarily, “Everyone’s looking to cut you in.”

“Yeah, even the man himself,” Asuma mutters.

Kakashi’s interest is piqued. “You don’t mean-,”

“Jiraiya, yeah,” Asuma clarifies with a roll of his eyes, “Dunno why the guy thought I’d be in, considering how close I am to you and the old lady, but he did. Ballsy, I’ll give him that.”

“Ballsy indeed,” Kakashi agrees. Asuma is a well-known friend of Konoha, which is a well-known enemy of Jiraiya. Kakashi files this information away for later. Tsunade will no doubt be quite interested in knowing Jiraiya is trying to thieve allies from them. “Anyway, we have to get these guys out of here without making a scene. We keep it straightforward, professional, because we don’t know who they’re working for. Here’s what we’re going to do. How long until Kurenai arrives?”

Asuma checks his watch again. “Half an hour.”

“Perfect.”

After he finishes speaking with Asuma, he leaves the bathroom to find Naruto and Sana. They are standing at the bar, and Sana appears to be admonishing Naruto for something that, when he is within earshot, Kakashi comes to understand as the breaking of the “two drink limit”. He smiles a private smile at the scene before clearing his throat to announce his presence. “Alright, here’s the plan.”

Sana barely waits to hear her part before she is slinking off towards the table in question. Draw them away from the other guests, prevent a scene. Kakashi watches them chat with her briefly before one of the men pulls out a cell phone and begins speaking quickly and quietly into it. Sana appears displeased with whatever is being said, and after she spits angry words at them for a few moments, they are all rising to their feet together. She crosses the room to Kakashi quickly. “We don’t have much time. Let’s move.”

The group meets in the parking lot. Kakashi’s gang plus Asuma and the likely real gang of traffickers stand in two semi-circles facing one another. The night air is cold, and Naruto gives his jacket to Sana to cover her bare shoulders. Kakashi watches Asuma shuffle his weight from one foot to the other. Traffickers always upset Asuma. Why does it have to be traffickers? 

“Gentlemen,” Asuma begins, “I heard you’re here for more than just cards.”

One of the men, a bald man wearing sunglasses even though the sun went down hours ago - a rather popular look amongst marks, to Kakashi’s endless distaste - speaks in response. “Our employer is eager to cut you in on a rather lucrative deal. We spoke to the lady earlier, and she seemed to think you would not appreciate such a favor.”

Asuma grimaces. “She’s right, I’m afraid.”

“Our employer sent us with very clear instructions. Your declining is not an option we can negotiate.”

Asuma puts his hands in his pockets, shrugs. “I mean no offense to your boss, but I can’t do business with someone if they won’t come speak to me personally. And I won’t participate in trafficking. If your boss knows the area, then he’ll know that. Everyone knows that Sarutobi doesn’t keep company with traffickers.”

Play it straight, that’s what Kakashi had said to them. Don’t tell them anything they shouldn’t have already known. Asuma is a powerful man, he can’t be easily bullied into a deal at this stage in his game. The only person with enough power to persuade him is Jiraiya, which is an incredibly interesting notion that had occurred to Kakashi early on. Kakashi thinks it’s likely that Jiraiya is the boss in question, which is why these grunts haven’t dropped his name in front of him. Jiraiya is no fool. He knows Tsunade and Kakashi are on his trail. They’re probably under strict orders not to reveal Jiraiya’s name, but the man has always had some rather flagrant tells in the past. 

“Our employer believes he can convince you to change your policy.” A new man is speaking now. He is also bald, but he is not wearing sunglasses. His eyes burn cold and blue in the lamplight. “We have an invitation for you to a meeting with him, a private meeting in a week’s time.” The man produces a business card. “You’ll think about it, I’m sure.” 

Kakashi nods at Naruto, who steps forward to receive the card. 

The men seem pleased and bow as if to leave. Evidently, they had been prepared for a much larger fight, only solidifying in Kakashi’s mind that their boss definitely knows Asuma doesn’t hold with traffickers. He knows what he’s doing by propositioning Sarutobi, which means he’s got a much larger card to play. Before the group leaves, the man in the sunglasses speaks up again. “Our employer wishes for you to give his best to your wife Kurenai for him.”

In a moment shorter than the blink of an eye, Kakashi and Asuma both launch themselves at the man. Asuma gets there first, most likely through the power of blind fury, and delivers a blow to the front of his head that sends him staggering. There are four men left, and Kakashi deals with a second while Naruto and Sana catch up. The men were not expecting the tides to turn this way, so they are all unconscious before they can so much as cry out. 

“Tie this one up,” Kakashi says, striking out with his foot and kicking the man who’d mentioned Kurenai. 

Naruto jumps to comply, and Kakashi helps him load the man into the trunk of the Ford. Asuma is already on his cell phone, and within seconds, his men appear in the parking lot to deal with the bodies. 

“Should we leave them alive?” Kakashi asks Asuma. This is not how they normally operate on Asuma’s poker night, but things have become personal, and Kakashi wants to do his friend the courtesy of passing the sentence. 

Asuma shakes his head. “Don’t see why.”

“Maybe just one?”

Asuma shakes his head again. His hands are trembling as he withdraws a knife from the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Kakashi follows his friend’s movement, withdrawing one of his own, and they cut the throats of the four unconscious men. When Kakashi gets to the man with the sunglasses, he discreetly pockets the shades for later. Asuma’s people drag the bodies away, and before long, they are left alone in the parking lot. 

Sana is trembling again but not from the cold. “Why would they say that about your wife?” she asks.

Kakashi opens his mouth to speak but finds he doesn’t know what to say. It is ultimately Asuma, then, who says, “My wife used to be one of Jiraiya’s-,” he stops, shakes a little with anger, “He kidnapped her, made her one of his whores. It was years ago, but she escaped. Came to my operation for asylum. That’s how we met.”

“Oh,” Sana says, but she doesn’t really say it. It’s more of a gasp than anything, a blunt little noise meant to say, “I have no idea what to say. I was not expecting that. I am sorry.”

“Which means these guys are working for Jiraiya,” Kakashi continues, putting a bracing hand on his friend’s shoulder. Flagrant tell indeed. “Tsunade will be thrilled to have another lead.”

“So, that’s two of this Jiraiya guy’s goons we’ve got in, like, two days?” Naruto asks, “Hey, that’s pretty good, huh!”

Kakashi finds himself smiling along with Naruto. “At this rate, we can take down his entire organization in a couple of months, person by person,” he jokes, although he isn’t terribly certain the marksman will recognize that.

“I didn’t know trafficking was part of Jiraiya’s operation,” Sana says, voice purposefully even, “Just the cartel.”

“The man’s a pervert, what can you expect?” Kakashi asks with a half-hearted shrug. 

“You guys gonna take that one back to Tsunade?” Asuma asks. It sounds like he’s talking just to talk. 

Kakashi takes pity on him. “I’m gonna send Sana and Naruto back to base with him. You and I are going to drink until this doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”

Asuma looks caught between his continued panic and a feeling of gratitude.

“So, we’re done here?” Sana asks, and she sounds a bit put-out, “I have to go?”

Kakashi turns and regards her folded arms, her scowl. “Yes, you two are done here. I can’t imagine anything else will crop up now, and I’ve always ran these missions solo in the past. Nothing I can’t handle tonight.”

Sana surely recognizes that, as Kakashi is the mission leader, she has to obey an order when she hears one. Evidently, she does not recognize what Kakashi has just said as a command. She glides over to him, chest pressing soft yet hard into his, and Kakashi is amazed at the attention to detail on this disguise. “I was hoping to play a few more games,” she simpers, smoothing a hand over his lapel. “We should take turns guarding the prisoner instead. I’m sure Naruto won’t mind first watch.”

Kakashi looks down at her glossy head of hair. She is not looking at him, exactly. She is looking at his neck. He swallows thickly. “Tsunade will want to get him to interrogation as soon as possible.” Focus on the mission, that’s always been the way. Professionalism, do the job, don’t jeapordize the-, 

“Don’t you want to play with me some more, Kakashi?”

“Hey, ‘Ruka,” Naruto says, startling them both. He walks over to Sana - no, Iruka, that’s right - and taps him on the shoulder. “You’re doing the thing again.”

Iruka turns his head to look at his brother, then looks down at his disguised form. He inhales deeply, eyelashes fluttering shut like butterfly wings, then lets his breath out sharply. “Thanks,” he says to Naruto, then turns and nods clippedly at Kakashi. “We’ll see you back at base.”

The brothers are off before Kakashi can decide what, exactly, that just was. He and Asuma watch the Ford back out of the parking lot and speed away into the night. Kakashi squints until he cannot see her tail lights anymore. Man, he loves that car. 

Kakashi and Asuma return to the party and proceed to order an ill-advised number of shots. They toast various things as they take them. Mostly, Asuma toasts his wife’s body, and mostly, Kakashi toasts a relatively boring evening. They are sloppy within thirty minutes, and when Kurenai arrives, she enthusiastically joins their merrymaking. Neither of them breathes a word about the traffickers, probably because neither of them are sober enough at this point to articulate complex thoughts. 

Kakashi still doesn’t lose any poker games, even in his inebriated state. Around three or four in the morning, the party breaks up, and Kurenai and Asuma see the last of their guests out. Kakashi is bone tired, but no one is sober enough to drive Asuma’s car, so they check into a room in the hotel across the highway for the night, or rather, what’s left of the night. Kakashi curls up in his bed and dreams of blonde hair and sticky lip gloss.

Asuma gives Kakashi a lift to Konoha the next day. Both of them are viciously hungover, and Asuma takes a brief detour through a fast food drive-thru for coffee and grease. Kakashi slides on the dead man’s sunglasses he’d pocketed the night before, not altogether pleased with what the shape does to his excellent bone structure but grateful to be able to turn the world’s intensity down a couple of notches. He chews his croissant sandwich slowly, willing his stomach to accept the offering, and washes it down with a sip of still too hot black coffee. He is standing in the foyer for the retina scan and the bug check, but dehydration makes him tremble too much to properly hold still. This is not the first time this has happened after a night at Asuma’s, however, and it only takes the scanners an extra minute or two to clear him. 

Kakashi passes through the hallway and into the atrium. He beelines for the living quarters, thinking only of laying back down in his bed and forgetting all about the brief moments he’s spent awake today. When his back hits the mattress, he’s immediately unconscious. He’s never fallen asleep so fast, ever, in his life, and it’s amazing. 

Kakashi wakes up perhaps two hours later by a knock at his door. He doesn’t necessarily feel better, but he does feel more capable of standing and speaking words, so that’s a step in the right direction. He opens his door to reveal Iruka, actually Iruka, dressed in blacks and looking adorably concerned. “Can I come in for a minute?” he asks.

Kakashi is interested. He steps aside, holding the door open for Iruka to enter, then shuts it. Iruka takes a seat at Kakashi’s desk and looks around the room like he’s expecting to see something but can’t find it. There are still smudges around his eyes from removing his make-up from last night. Kakashi sits on his bed and waits patiently. 

Iruka regards Kakashi with eyes filled with worry. “How did last night go after we left?”

“Fine,” Kakashi reports.

Iruka does not believe him, it seems. “You look terrible. Are you sure?”

“I am more hungover now than I ever have been before in my entire adult life.”

Realization colors Iruka’s face with amusement. “So last night went better than fine. Should I be glad you didn’t let me stay and drink myself to death?”

Kakashi rubs the back of his head. “Probably. Kurenai and Asuma know how to put it down.”

Iruka chuckles, and there is a moment of peaceful silence before his face begins to look worried again. “I’m thinking about going to talk to Tsunade soon.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Iruka sucks in a deep breath. “About joining Konoha.”

Kakashi’s eyebrows raise. 

“Just me, not Naruto,” Iruka clarifies.

“Naruto kills people all the time, Iruka,” Kakashi reminds him, “Being part of Konoha will make him safer, if anything. He’ll have protection with us.”

Iruka worries his lip. “It’s important that he has the option, that he has a choice. Freelancing, he has a choice. Belonging to Tsunade, he doesn’t.”

Kakashi concedes this with a gracious nod of his head. “But he’s going to do whatever jobs you’re doing, anyway.”

“Not if Tsunade doesn’t hire him onto the jobs I take.”

Kakashi shrugs. “I can’t imagine this will sit well with your brother, Iruka. He’s going to feel like you’re abandoning him.”

“Not if I’m with you,” Iruka points out, and his voice sounds like he’s reached the reason for his visit, “If Naruto knows that I’m partnered with someone capable, someone we’ve worked with and trust, he won’t feel the need to come along with me. If I run missions with you, he’ll know I’m safe.”

Kakashi rather doubts this. “Did he tell you that?”

“I know how his mind works,” Iruka insists.

Kakashi doubts this, as well, but he decides to move on to a more pressing argument. “I don’t take partners, Iruka.”

“Why not? I’m capable enough,” Iruka argues, “I think you’ve seen enough of my skillset to know I’m not a liability to you. The firefight at the wedding proved we work well together.”

“Did it now?” Kakashi asks genuinely. Then, he holds his hands up in supplication as Iruka’s face morphs into anger. “I’m not trying to insult you. Your work in the field has been exemplary. But it’s like you said. On your own, you have a choice. Together, you don’t. I don’t take partners because I work jobs I don’t want other people risking themselves doing.”

“I can handle myself,” Iruka protests.

“I know,” Kakashi insists, perhaps a bit testily, “But I work alone. Less liability that way. I work better by myself.”

“We were all pretty good last night.”

“Asuma’s party is barely a job. I’m talking a real job, Iruka.”

“Then, let’s go on one of those together. A trial run.”

Kakashi stands. “I’m telling you that’s what I’m trying to avoid. I can’t have some tarted up blonde following me around on assassination missions. It works in some settings but only some of them, Iruka.” It is a poor jab, and Kakashi knows it, but he is angry, too angry to care.

“If you think a disguise artist wouldn’t be an asset on an assassination mission, you are a complete idiot,” Iruka counters, crossing his arms over his chest, “And, if I remember correctly, you had no problems with my disguise last night when you were drooling all over me.”

Kakashi feels that, if he didn’t already want to die, he would have hit his head against the wall. That would have been more productive than arguing with Iruka. “Why now, Iruka? All these years, supposedly, contracting for us, and you never wanted to join. Why now?”

Iruka looks uncomfortable.

“It can’t be because of me,” he presses. 

Iruka shakes his head. “No, don’t flatter yourself, I-,”

“Then what?” Kakashi demands, advancing on Iruka. He stands over the desk chair, hands balled into tight fists, and he realizes he is losing his grip. He takes a loud, deliberate drag of air through his nose and pushes it out his parted lips. “Iruka,” he tries, “What are you hiding?”

The shutdown is immediate. Iruka clamps down on his facial expressions with an iron grip, smoothing his features into an impassive stare. “You were right. I’ll be safer with Konoha.”

This is undoubtedly the truth, but Kakashi knows it is not Iruka’s reason. “Being vague makes it difficult to trust you, you know.”

Iruka shrugs. The calm that has replaced his fury is aggravating to Kakashi. He lives for the rise, loves pushing buttons and watching what they do. Iruka’s control makes him itch.

“What was Naruto talking about last night, when he said you were doing something again?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Last night, when you were trying to get me to let you stay at the party, in the parking lot,” he clarifies, “Naruto told you that you were doing something again, doing it again. What’s that about?”

Iruka’s face colors. Kakashi is relieved if not still a bit irritated. He suspects that Iruka is allowing himself to react rather than responding to any provocativeness in Kakashi’s words. “Well, if you must know, sometimes I can get a little-,” he pauses, choosing his words, “A little too deep into a disguise. I became the person I was pretending to be a little too much, and it begins to interfere with the mission. Naruto sees that and pulls me out.”

“And you think you don’t need him with you on jobs?”

Iruka opens his mouth to retort but nothing comes out. He closes his lips, then opens them again. “I just want him to have a choice.” His voice is quiet and raw and echoes off of the bare walls. 

“Unlike you? Iruka, you have a choice, too.”

Iruka is looking at his hands, not at Kakashi, when he says, “No, I don’t.”

Kakashi lets this statement where it is and doesn’t touch it. He recognizes when he’s hit something real and unpleasant, has led enough interrogations to know that this is one of those make or break moments. He doesn’t press Iruka because he doesn’t want to break anything. “I can understand that.” And he can. He doesn’t really feel he has a choice, either, considering this is the only life he’s ever known. It’s the only thing he’s good at. Maybe it’s a similar way for Iruka. “Either way, I’m glad you’re thinking about joining Konoha, but I can’t be your partner. I’m sorry.”

Iruka’s face is pinched, but he nods and stands. “I hope you feel better soon, Kakashi.”

When he leaves, he slams the door so hard Kakashi’s teeth rattle.


End file.
